Elle Oxley
by Mysterious Bloody Lune
Summary: Harold Oxley has a daughter... Who was in France most of the time. What will happen when Elle meets Mutt and Elle moves in? T for language.
1. Chapter 1

_Yes! Publishing my Elle Oxley Stories... Sorry if Mutt's OOC and Elle's a Mary Sue. I tried my best, readers._

* * *

Why was I at this type of party? Okay, so the guys had told me to come, apparently there was some new girl who was from Europe who was coming.

"Mutt, there she is." Jake Reynolds snickered, pointing at the stairs where she was walking slowly down.

This was supposed to be a U of C formal, which was the part I didn't exactly follow. I was wearing my usual gray t-shirt and leather jacket, and no one made a big deal.

She looked uncomfortable in her dress: It was pink and frilly with a huge skirt. But whatever.

Her skin was clear, and very pale. Not a white pale, but a cream-colored pale. Her eyes- Wait, those were Oxley's eyes... anyway, the were a dark green color and very pretty.

She was beautiful, and I saw Joe College getting hit by Mary Sue Smith for him staring at this new girl. I decided to go up to her.

"Hello." She said when I was finally in hearing range. Her accent was similar to Oxley's, though a little stronger. Maybe a lot stronger.

"Hey, I'm Mutt." I introduced myself, smiling a bit.

"Elle. Excuse me." She said, walking past me, smiling apologetically.

****************************************************************************************************

Elle's POV  

Mutt. I liked that name.

Dad had just called me here from Leeds. Strange, he didn't take much notice of me when we were living with the Williams'. Hey, hadn't that kid's name been Mutt? Yeah, I'm pretty sure it was. But I'd been at boarding school in France so much, I'd only gone there for a few days a year. And I hadn't been there in years, twelve at the least.

Dad had got me this... torture device... for the formal with the help of the old saleslady at the fancy clothing store. I'd worn it to make him happy.

And I had sneaked some other clothes, a pair of cotton Capri pants and a tied black shirt.

Minutes later, I was back in the clothes I wanted to be in. I was wearing ballet flats.

"Elle!" Anthony Morelli shouted, from across the room. He'd been in France with me during school, so I'd talked to him a lot.

"Anthony?" I laughed, running through the crowd.

"Bella signora." He grinned. I playfully slapped him. He was from a large Italian family.

"That's what you said to Jasmine, I'd be careful." I warned.

"Signora, Jasmine is in France still." Anthony said in his moderate accent. He didn't get mister and misses, so he used Signore and Signora.

"Why? That Jason Bushman still there?" I smirked.

"No, she's working as a prost-" He started.

"Signore, please, I really don't care." I interrupted. "How would you know, anyway?"  "Never mind that." He said quickly.

"Jason Bushman got competition?" I asked airily.

"Nah, he can have her." Anthony shrugged. "Oh! Elle, this is Jake Reynolds, Mutt Williams, Theodore Wilkie, Christopher Hatchett and Lee Barrow." He made the appropriate gestures. I nodded at each.

"Elle Oxley." I said. Mutt's eyes widened a bit.

"Harold Oxley?" He checked.

"Confused half the time, convinced there's other dimensions, and talks until the cows come home?" I replied. Mutt nodded. "The very same."  

"Damn. Where were you half my life?"

  "If that's supposed to be a pick-up line, I'm not falling for it." I shot back.

"No! That's not what I meant!" Mutt protested, among snickers from the guys. "What I meant was that Harold Oxley was over in London with Mom and I." 

 "Oh. I was most likely in France or Leeds."

 "Leeds?" 

 "Mother's family."

  "Bella signora, my other bella signora is here. G'bye." Anthony informed me. I laughed.

"Jasmine's here? I thought you said she was in France, working as a prost-" I began.

"Not that other bella signora, the other bella signora!" 

 "Signora Emmeline?"

  "No! Signora Rosemary!"

"Anthony, get them in order." I groaned. He called most girls 'bella signora.'

"Okay. Bella Signora Elle, Bella Signora Jasmine, Bella Signora Rosemary, skip about two hundred, Signora Emmeline."

"Thanks, Anthony." I smiled, giving him a small kiss in the cheek. The other guys seemed to look awkwardly at us. Except Mutt, who looked like he hadn't a care in the world. Anthony grinned and said something in Italian.

"I'm not Jasmine. Go find Rosemary." I ordered. Anthony gave one of his dramatic sighs and ran over to Rosemary.

"Um... so, Elle, you're from France?" Christopher asked, awkwardly.

"I went to school there. Sometimes I went to Leeds, though." I answered, politely as I could.

"Do you have a motorcycle?" Lee continued the interrogation. Well, duh I had a motorcycle.

"Hell yeah. 1950 Harley Davidson." I grinned.

"How does it ride?" Theodore wondered.

"It's probably the best one I've ridden... no bias." I answered. Mutt lifted and eyebrow.

"Best one?" He checked.

"So far." I nodded.

"Right. Is it here?"   

"Oxley wouldn't let me use the car, so yeah."  

"I'll race you."  

"For what? Please do not say pinks."  

"Pinks? Hell no. Just to see who's bike is better." He smirked.

"You're on. Let's go." I exclaimed, Rosemary and Anthony appearing.

"Come on, Elle's racing Mutt in the parking lot!" Jake shouted to the whole place. The girls laughed and the guys ran out in hordes.

"You're really not, are you Elle?" Rosemary asked, eyes wide.

"You've known me since we were five. What do you think?"  

 "Alright, let's go!" Anthony cheered, pushing us outside.

_********************_

"Okay. No physical contact during the race, which is four loops around the lot. Starting and finish line is here," Anthony drew a line on the ground with a piece of chalk. "And don't cheat, 'cause we're keeping count."  "Sounds good." I agreed, mounting the bike and carefully driving it to the starting line, revving the engine slightly. Mutt did the same.

"You think you can win, Elle?" He taunted.

"More like do you think you can win." I smirked, waiting for the signal.

"Ready?" Anthony drawled. "Set? Go."  The engine snarled, and I saw the look of shock on most people's faces. 1950 Harley Davidsons weren't supposed to run this well... I'd modified mine to the point where it wasn't a 1950 Harley anymore.

"Holy hell.." Mutt shouted, as I passed him easily.

To make the records straight, Elle Oxley won that race.

But it was a damn close race, I'll give him that.

* * *

_Bella Signora= Beautiful Miss_

_Signore= Mister._

_I believe that's right, correct me if I'm wrong!_


	2. Rain, Notes, and Remembrances

"Okay, silently." Mutt muttered. We were standing outside the library window, ready to get in without anyone knowing. Apparently, Ox and I were supposed to stay at Mutt's place. Marion, who we had moved in with this morning, was Mutt's mom, so... obviously... and Jones, up at the University, was his dad.

"Hang on, how do we know it's unlocked?" I whispered.

"I unlocked it before I left."  

"If you say so..." I murmured uncertainly. He tried to open the window.

"Aw, shit." Mutt cursed. "Either we face the wrath of Mom- Marion- now or we sleep on the porch and face her wrath tomorrow."  

"Oxley's wrath, too. He's a bit... daft, but he's usually strict on curfews and whatnot." I reminded him.

"Tomorrow." We said in unison. Tomorrow there was some professor-only meeting at the University, so we'd only have to listen to Marion yell at us...

"Porch or bushes?" He asked.

"Does a milkman come by every morning? And if we slept on the porch, we'd probably get stepped on somehow... or get the police called on us." I pointed out. "I'm hiding in the bushes." And I laid my jacket down, sat on it, and drew my knees to my chin.  

"Going to sleep like that?" Mutt smirked.

"Maybe. It's four in the morning..." I yawned, eyes slowly closing. "By the way, that was a damn good race."  I swear he smiled.

"You too." He replied.

"See you... in a few hours..." I fell asleep.

****************************************************************************************************

_Mutt's POV_

Elle raced really well. She could've beat even Johnny DiMeo, who was a year older than me and had one of the best motorcycles even made. It rode well, it looked good...

Indy got really mad when I was late, and even though I knew he'd be madder, it was usually better to wait until he's been bored to death listening about budgets and that stuff. And Oxley would probably just comment on how people my age should always be home on time...

I better get to sleep... might as well...

*****

_Nine a.m. Elle's POV_

Gah... what time is it?  I checked my watch... Nine a.m.. Mutt and I better get inside. It was supposed to rain later... The clouds were darkening.

"Mutt." I gently shook him. He mumbled something. "Mutt, rise and shine, it's about to start pouring rain."  

"Pouring rain?" He mumbled, almost incoherently.

"Yeah. Get up, they already left."   

"Ten more minutes?"  

"Just get up, Mutt Williams!" I nearly shouted, then remembered what I sounded like...

_**Flashback. Year: 1944**_

"Elle, wake up!" Anthony shook me.

"Ten minutes..." I mumbled.

"Just get up, Elle Oxley!" Anthony shouted. "They're coming!"  

"They?"  

"The Nazis are coming to invade us! You must wake up, we're going to Sicily! Hurry, Elle!" He shouted. My eyes flew open, and the sirens began to wail loudly to warn the city of the invaders.

_**End Flashback.**_

I remembered that day clearly. Anthony was five, I was five. I'd already been at boarding school by then. Kindergarten, you know.

The sirens wailing in their loud, clear drone. The teachers scurrying us to hurry, to take our emergency packs. A few weeks earlier, we'd packed small suitcases with a couple changes of clothes, our most treasured possessions,(I had none, all mine being at Mom's in Leeds, and those were in the safe in the basement.) and a blanket.

When we walked out the main door, we were handed a bottle of water and a loaf of bread each. There were only twenty of us, so there were twenty loaves...

A small bus was waiting for us. I recognized it as the school's bus, used for trips to the museum or library. The words were stripped off, and the 'school bus' sign was missing.

There was one of us who was Jewish. After a couple years, she was taken away when the Nazis found us and demanded birth certificates and the likes.

Kaylee was her name... Kaylee Smith.

Mutt must've noticed my sudden stillness and silence, even when it began to rain a tiny bit.

"Elle?" He asked uncertainly.

"Huh? Oh yeah..." I shook my head a little to try and clear my head of these thoughts. "I wonder where Kaylee is right now..." I whispered.

"Kaylee? Elle, we need to get inside, you said so yourself." He offered his hand, which I gratefully took.

"Just an old friend I thought of... Never mind." I was still whispering, the shrieks of sirens in my ears, the sight of red flags in my eyes, the feeling of my heart beat faster from fright when the Nazis invaded... they were so scary to me, all marching in perfect formation and speaking German. Always something like 'INES SZWEI INES!' Madame Harris said it meant 'One, two, one.'

The sight of the Nazis march... the sight of red flags with a Swastika on it... the smell of smoke, from the bombs...

I think I would have been better off with Mutt, Marion, and Oxley!

"Are you okay?" Mutt asked, seeming concerned. Whenever I thought about my childhood, I stood stockstill. My eyes usually glazed over, and a few times I started crying, the tears slowly falling down my face. I felt a little wetness on my cheek. I'd started to cry.

"My childhood. Let's go, it's raining harder." I said, still a little... distracted? I wiped the tears from my face, praying to God my eyes weren't rimmed with red and puffy. If they were, I could blame allergies... Or tell the truth?  No. I felt as though if I told the truth, I'd be showing off, telling lies... The likes.

Mutt nodded, then ran to the front door, which was a few feet away from us. I followed.

The door was unlocked, with a note attached to it.

Actually, three notes.

The first one read: 

_Mutt and Elle-_

_I went to the grocery and the bank, be back later._

_Marion._

The second one was in Oxley's handwriting.

_Elle-_

_Glad to know you found Marion's. When I get home, you're in trouble._

_Ox_

He obviously did not know how to punish people. Ugh.. let's hope this stupid meeting takes forever, like some random nerd professor begins to filibuster on how they should get better pay or school lunches or smaller classes or something equally as nerdy-professor-ish.

The third one was in unfamiliar handwriting.

_Junior-_

_You're also in trouble when I get home._

_Indy._

"Is it just me, or have neither of them ever tried to punish teenagers?" I asked, watching Mutt tear up Jones's note.

"Don't call me Junior!" He shouted, stomping on the pieces. I gave him an odd look. "Sorry... I just hate it when he calls me Junior!"

"Junior?" I lifted an eyebrow.

"I'm Jones's son, remember?" Mutt said.

"Oh. C'mon, I think the phone's ringing." I replied, opening the door. Mutt rushed in to get the phone.


	3. Of Potatoes, Oatmeal and Moldy Ham

"Hello?" He asked. Then he groaned. "Oh, hey, Chris."

Chris... Christopher!

"She's right by me, you know." More silence. "That doesn't mean-" Even more silence. Mutt rolled his eyes, then hung up.

"What was that about?" I asked.

"Chris being an ass. Want anything for breakfast?" Mutt quickly changed the subject and went to open the Frigidaire. Turns out the reason why Marion went to the grocery was to get most of the essentials: Milk, because the milkman apparently didn't deliver this morning, and most perishables.

"Never mind." Mutt said quickly, shutting the door.

For the next fifteen minutes, we searched the kitchen for anything for breakfast. Unless you wanted oatmeal (gag) or a potato, there was next to nothing.

I take that back: There was a bottle of wine, leftover apple pie, and an old, old ham sandwich (I'm not even sure it was ham anymore or if it ever had been). And a half-eaten apple.

"I think Oxley Senior might've been responsible for the apple and apple pie." I shrugged.

"Oatmeal or potatoes?" Mutt held up both options.

"Or oatmeal fried potatoes." I added.

"O-oka-a-a-y-y then." Mutt stretched the 'Okay' so it sounded like 'Ooookaaayy'.

"First thing that I thought of." I said defensively.

"Potatoes in oatmeal." Mutt suggested.

"That sounds better than oatmeal fried potatoes."

"Let's just wait... even the cereal is stale." Mutt shook his head in disgust.

Leave it to Marion to walk in right now.

"Oh, hello!" She exclaimed, putting down the grocery bags.

"Did you get breakfast stuff?" Mutt asked, opening a bag.

"Mutt Williams! Could you not hang on for a minute?" Marion pulled the bag away from him, and I was trying not to laugh. "Oh, hello, Elle!" She said brightly, successfully getting the paper bag away from Mutt. I'd met Marion yesterday, when Oxley Senior and I had arrived here in Chicago.

"Hello Marion." I smiled.

"Mom! Did you get stuff for breakfast or do we have to eat potatoes in oatmeal?" Mutt asked, impatient.

"Potatoes in oatmeal?" Marion raised an eyebrow.

"Or oatmeal fried potatoes." I offered.

"There wasn't anything else to eat. unless you like an old ham sandwich, a bottle of wine, a half-eaten apple, and leftover apple pie." I explained.

"What ham sandwich?" Marion asked, opening the Frigidaire.

"That ham sandwich." Mutt pointed at it.

"Blame your father, Mutt. I think it was turkey." Marion said grimly.

"No offense meant to anyone, but that's really kinda disgusting." I said. Mutt's face suddenly lit up. In a creepy, evil sort of way... "Uh, Mutt?"

"It was Indy's?" Mutt checked.

"I think so." Marion nodded. Mutt leaned forward and picked the thing up. I swear, he should be evil-laughing by now... If he was doing what I thought he was doing...

"Hang on a minute." Mutt called, halfway up the stairs. Marion and I exchanged a worried glance. About a minute later, Mutt was down the stairs and in the kitchen again.

"So... what's for breakfast?" He asked, innocently.

"What was that about?" Marion wondered.

"Indy's past is going to catch up with him soon." Mutt replied cryptically.

"I'm not going to ask." Marion muttered.

**********

_That afternoon, the garage._

_Mutt's POV_

Elle was on the hood of Ox's 1950 Cadillac Coupe DeVille. That thing was huge. I guess old men need big cars to keep them safe. Indy had a slightly smaller, yet still pretty big, car. The world should just have motorcycles. I was working on my motorcycle.

"You're going to rub the paint off." Elle pointed out.

"Is that possible?" I asked. If it was, I could get the paint off and repaint it... That would give me something to do.

"I don't know. I've seen a few that had been polished too much. Very, very shiny, but no color." She shrugged. "By the way, the oil's leaking again." She pointed to the puddle underneath the engine.

"Oh, _shit."_ I hissed. What was with the engine? The thing always had a problem of some sort.

"Try..." She said a bunch of stuff that I wasn't sure was possible.

"Come again?"

"Just let me do it." She got off the hood of the car, took the tool box, and proceeded to fix the engine. Or attempt to.

*****  
_Elle's POV_

Dad had a 1950 Cadillac Coupe DeVille. I loved that car. It doesn't run very well, and Dad won't let me fix it. Says it's his and his alone.

Mutt seems to want the paint to come off his bike. How much polish does he go through in a month, I really do not want to know. More than necessary, I knew that.

"You're going to rub the paint off." I told him.

"Is that possible?" He asked, facing me.

"I don't know. I've seen a few that had been polished too much. Very-very shiny, but no color." I shrugged. Then I noticed the black, gleaming puddle forming below the engine. "By the way, the oil's leaking again." I pointed to the puddle.

"Oh, _shit."_ He turned back to the bike, and began fussing over it. What would Mutt choose: Food or his motorcycle?

"Try tightening the..." I went off on an idea on how to fix the leak.

"Come again?" He was confused. Ugh.

"Just let me do it." I rolled my eyes, got up off the hood, grabbed the toolbox, and began fixing the engine.

Guys can be so useless sometimes, don't you think?

* * *

_La La La La La... I updated! Shortest chapter yet... 918 words. School's starting up again, so I may fall behind. (;¬_¬) I hate being behind..._

_-BellaNutellaIsh_


	4. Arnie's and Fries

"C'mon, let's go to Arnie's," Mutt insisted for the tenth time.

"What the living hell is Arnie's?" I asked, for the first time. The first nine times I told him I'd think about it.

"A diner," He said.  

"Why would we-" I began, but was cut off my a loud "SHIT!" from the kitchen. Then, Marion hearing it from upstairs, a louder, "INDY!"

"Because Indy's trying to make dinner," Mutt explained.   

"Does this happen a lot?"  

"Only when Indy's trying to get some." Mutt smirked.

"Pitiful." I wasn't quite sure how to reply to that... So I settled on pitiful. Which is what it actually kinda was.

"Is it just me, or do I smell smoke?" Dad asked, walking into the den.

"Indy's trying to make dinner," Mutt repeated.

"And failing in the attempt," I added, glancing towards the kitchen worriedly. "Fine, I'll go to Arnie's."  

"Great! Let's go," Mutt grinned.

Arnie's turned out to be the favorite spot for Marshall College students. Lettermen on one side, Greasers on the other. Nerds all over. Waitresses only really serving the Lettermen, of course. Greasers, it turned out, were notoriously lousy tippers, because most of them were from middle class families and didn't have as much money as the Lettermen, who were mostly upper class. Or that's how the accepted story goes.

"Chris, it's Mutt and that girl you told me about!" A girl, whose name I didn't know yet, poked Chris in the shoulder. Chris, Anthony, Rosemary, Lee, the girl who poked Chris, and another other girl I didn't know were seated around a large group of tables, Anthony and Rosemary holding hands.

"Hey, Mutt!" Lee shouted. "Get over here!"  

Mutt and I went over to their table, and I couldn't help but say something about Anthony and Rosemary.

"Better not tell Jasmine, Anthony. No offense, Rose," I grinned.

"Oh, shut up, Elle," Rose rolled her eyes, but grinned slightly. "This is Janey and that's Amy," She pointed at the two girls in order. Janey poked Chris, and Amy was here with Lee.

You know what they say, Saturday night is date night? That was certainly true here. Hell, even the nerds (You know, large glasses, acne, puke-green plaid vests over light blue collared shirts) were here with their nerd girlfriends (You know, large glasses, oily hair, Mary Janes, white tights, blue plaid sweaters that go up to their necks).

The Letterman were wearing their Varsity jackets, a large, white 'M' in the lower left-hand corner, complete with white faux-leather sleeves and a deep blue felty vest-type thing and their girlfriends their plaid skirts and tight, tight blouses with three of four buttons open, eating salad and water. Annoying, silky scared tied 'oh-so-fashionably' around their necks.

Then there was the Greasers, with their leather jackets, coiffed duck-ass hair, caps, and blue jeans and their girlfriends wearing tapered, tight pants and button-on-the-side tops. Here, hair wasn't really curled like a Letterman's girlfriend's hair, it was kind of down and slightly wavy. Those curlers hurt to sleep in, so I had a loose ponytail and wavy hair (Sleeping with my hair in a braid worked well) I was wearing the tight pants and side-button top.

Of course a slow song would come on the jukebox.

I wanted to break that damn thing, or just put another song on.

Slow songs meant slow dances. Slow dances meant necking. Also, I didn't exactly dance... But that's another story.

But then, I realized that it was mostly the Lettermen and nerds who were dancing. Nerds trying to be cool, and Lettermen trying to get their girlfriends to sleep with them later. Sure, Anthony and Rose were dancing, but it was because they were Anthony and Rose. It was kinda sweet, seeing the two of them together, though.

Chris and Lee were tossing fries at the people dancing, making Janey and Amy laugh. But I was laughing at the expressions the girls had when their boyfriend nervously picked a French Fry out of their hair. Mutt was also tossing fries.

I picked one up and tossed it so it landed right on top of Anthony's head. Bingo.

Rose noticed, and was trying not to giggle. We- all six of us- waved at Anthony as he rotated so we could see his face.

By the time the song had ended, most people had been attacked by the little fries. Girls were picking them off their shoes, guys out of their hair... Another plan successfully completed.

"Elle!" Rose nearly shouted, once she realized there were about five individual fries spiked on the heel of her shoe. Just from stepping on them.

"Yes, Rose?" I asked, innocently, then began laughing as a Letterman put his hand on top of his head, felt the fry and some ketchup, then looked at his hand, saw the ketchup, and began screaming.

"What the-" Scream. "Hell did-" Scream. "You do?"  

"We threw-" Scream. "French fries-" Scream. "At everyone."  The Screamer then ran out of Arnie's. Thank God, he was giving me a headache.

"Well, now that Screamer's gone, what now?" I asked. Chris ran to the jukebox, ran back, and looked at Janey.  

"Wanna swing?" He asked her.

I recognized the song: You Ain't Nothin' But A Hound Dog by Elvis Presley. God, I loved this song. I remembered seeing a program on the television at a bar in England a while ago.

"Sure," Janey grinned. The first- and only- couple on the dance floor.

"Amy?" Lee lifted an eyebrow at her. She rolled her eyes, but went along with it.

"Aren't you going to dance?" I asked Anthony, just so I at least would be talking.

"I don't do swing," He answered.

"Square," I commented.

"Who's a square?" Mutt asked. He'd been combing his hair.

"That kid next to you," I motioned at Anthony.

"Why?"  

"He doesn't, and I quote, do swing," I replied.

"Yeah, well... You don't either," Anthony pointed out.

"I don't swing? Anthony Morelli, where the hell have you been?" I put a hand over my heart in shock.

"You swing?" Mutt asked, interested.

"Yup," I grinned.

"Prove it," He was in disbelief. After all... Oxley didn't dance. In fact, he didn't particularly like the fact that I danced.

"Come on, then," I stood up and went to the dance floor, Mutt trailing behind me.

There isn't much better than swing dancing.

* * *

When we got home, the house hadn't burned to the ground. Thank goodness. It was about ten, which meant that the door should still be open and everything.

"Hello?" Marion's voice was closely followed by herself. She was holding a broom in one hand.

"Geez, Mom," Mutt rolled his eyes. "You'd think we were the gangs."  

"That's exactly what I thought!" Marion exclaimed.

"Relax," Mutt said.

"Besides, gangs wouldn't try to open the front door. They're do something more dramatic and say, I don't know... break open a window. Jump down the chimney," I added. There were parts of England that you didn't want to go to, because they were ridden with gangs and prostitutes and shady deals... Robbers and runaways... Beggars and homeless people...

"How would you know?" Marion asked.

"Because I've seen places where there are gangs and robbers and all sorts of shady things," I shrugged.

"Oh," She just said. Sounds a little scary, huh?  

"Well, thanks, Mutt!" I said, trying not to be overenthusiastic but trying not to be sour and depressed. "G'night, everyone." I added, because I somehow knew that Oxley and Indy were sitting and listening to the game. But I was tired... Worn out.


End file.
